In The Mourning
by foxyhawes
Summary: "Everything about your relationship is a crime scene, from blood spatter tainting the perfection to the feeling of an ending lingering in the air, but that doesn't make you want him any less." H/N one-shot.


_Shortish one-shot roughly based on the song 'In The Mourning' by Paramore (which I was recently lucky enough to hear live) and I may have also stolen a tiny lyric and included it somewhere towards the end. Horrible mess of angst and heartbreak, but I started this ages ago and just had to finish it! Enjoy, darlings. xo_

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**in the mourning**

He knows how you look when you're just about to cry; all trembling lips and lingering glances. He knows how you look after you've cried; red-rimmed eyes and hands that shake a little too much. That is what makes being sad so difficult, you can't do it alone. He's always there. Like a glass bottle that refuses to smash no matter how many times you bounce it off the bloody floor. But at some point it must become weaker, less resilient against your force.

And that's why you can't get your head around the fact Harry's here. Right now. In your apartment. Holding you against his chest despite the hands splayed across his stomach trying in vain to push him away when you know you should really be pulling him closer. Despite the rigidness of your body against his, he is whispering sweet nothings in your ear, which actually turn out to be little fragmented pieces of _everything, _and you melt irrevocably against him until he's practically holding you up.

You're surprised you can stand when he lets you go, saying the same words he's been repeating ever since he told you he's leaving. "_I'm sorry, Nikki."_ And as much as you don't want to, as much as you want to kick and scream and cry until he tells you he'll stay, you believe him. You can see the guilt in his eyes and you can almost feel it tangled around the rapid beats of his heart, which just so happens to be pumping directly beneath your palm now.

You begin absent-mindedly playing with one of the buttons on his shirt, fingers tracing the tiny circle while you desperately avoid looking directly at him. "_I know. I know you're sorry and you know I forgive you and that is what... that is what pisses me off so much." _The sound of your voice starts off quiet and almost distant, then increases in volume and venom the more you speak. "_I don't want to forgive you, I want to be angry and I want to make you feel so fucking bad about all this that you drop it all stay with me but I-"_

He does it again. Right then. Right there. The exact same thing he did all those years ago when you were talking about being alone forever. He kisses you to shut you up. And, really, it just makes things worse. Because you're kissing him back. And that changes everything.

He pulls away and gazes at you deeply; eyes practically screaming _god I've fucked this one up, havent I? _You answer his silent question by pulling him close to you again, relishing the feel of his lips against your own, trying your hardest to return to a time where beautiful things weren't tainted by words like _leaving _and _sorry_.

You don't say anything else after that. You don't really need to. Words mean nothing when Harry's tongue is teasing your own like that, or when his hands are straying to places they probably shouldn't be, but feel so right when they are. You say nothing until long after you landed on your mattress, and nothing but sighs of pleasure escape from your lips until the waves build and you reach that crescendo. Even then it's only a few tiny words, lost within a multitude of sighs and moans and the simultaneous beats of your battered, broken hearts. Three words, to be exact. And the pain that rips through your chest when you say them takes your breath away.

_"I love you."_

People underestimate how difficult it is to be in love with someone who is so... _constant_. Because when it's over and it's gone, you feel as though they've taken a part of you with them. And nothing can ever fill the hole their absence creates.

You don't stick around long enough to hear him say the words back, by the time you have regained control of your limbs and thoughts, you're sitting on the edge of the bed putting on as many items of clothes you can find (basically just your underwear and Harry's shirt that had been screwed up and discarded on your journey to bed). You're just about to leave the room when you feel the mattress bow as he sits up, fingertips tracing gentle patterns across your bare thigh as he rests his chin on your shoulder, his other arm curling protectively around your waist as he tries to pull you back down. You're surprised at yourself when you give in and lay down again; Harry's front pressed tightly against your back. Relief sweeps through you at the realisation that he can't see your face, as tears rest unbidden in your eyes and your heart drops as if it's being forced down by a cannonball.

Minutes pass as you wait for him to say something and as the silence continues you're almost certain he's fallen asleep. That is, until he presses his lips to your neck and four little words vibrate across your skin: "_I love you too."_

That's when the walls you've built so perfectly around you crumble and fall. That's when you begin crying so much that he feels the need to roll you over so you're facing him. You're crying because the only thing left is time that's wasted and words that have no backbone. You're burying your head in the crease between his shoulder and neck because this is your last chance to memorise the feel of his skin, the feel of being this close to him. You're gripping onto him with every ounce of strength you possess in the futile hope that he will stay with you forever.

And he's holding you tightly as you fall apart because _he knows._

He feels it too. The impending distance and the longing and the desire all crammed into the same excruciating ache, the way it courses through your veins and rattles in your bones and nestles itself within the deepest crevices of your heart like a disease killing you slowly and painfully from the inside. Harry's lips connect with yours again much like they did at the beginning; slow and steady and full of emotion, yet lacking the determination and promise that you know you both crave.

This is the time for acceptance. The understanding that this will never be your _forever_.

The beauty of broken fragments glittering on hard floors and inflicting deep wounds with every touch of jagged edges, broken hearts emanating a distant cracking sound with each word whispered into the all-consuming darkness, the reminder that all great things must come to an end despite the amount of potential they possess.

Whether this moment lasts a few more seconds, minutes or hours, you know that what's happening right now is a moment you wish you could bottle up and keep forever: the feel and smell and taste of his skin against your lips and the way he is drawing delicate patterns across your hip, secret love notes written on flesh that seep into the bloodstream, a memory that haunts you until the day you die.

You're well aware that he will leave you in the morning, everything about your relationship is a crimescene, from blood spatter tainting the perfection to the feeling of an ending lingering in the air, but that doesn't make you want him any less.

Besides, what is love without a bit of heartache? What is distance without emptiness?

What are you without Harry?

(Spoiler: broken, and a little bit lonely too.)

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_Oooooh, it's all a bit depressing, isn't it? I'm sorry. I've been having feels. Reviews would definitely cheer me up, and it doesn't take long to let me know what you think! :-) I'll be back soon, I promise. xo_


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